I’d been leaving. Piece by piece.
For a while.
Every time you wanted me to not want what I wanted.
I wanted things. Things for myself. Us. You.
And then you told me I was wrong, oh so often.
Looking for feelings in things. When I was not.
I was looking for them in you.
I told you how I was withering. Layer by layer.
You thought it was us, withering.
And so we did. Fade.
I had an inkling of the end.
It crashed in sooner than I thought it would.
So often than not. We did become what we said we won’t.
I said flower. You heard thorn.
You said rain. I heard drought.
We were We. It then turned to Me.
A flip of sides. A flip of our synchronicity.
Oh, it was a lovely tale.
A cast of transient magic.
A storm that weakened as soon as it formed.
An unquenched thirst.
Spilled paint, on a masterpiece.